The Thief
by PotterforPresident1997
Summary: Ginny Weasley's life takes a strange turn as she learns of and tries to elude a thief who is after a mystical portrait in her possession. My take on film "Roy" as would happen in the Potter Universe.
1. Chapter 1: And so It begins

"Ginny, Ginny!" Arthur Weasley shouted from upstairs.

Ginny Weasley. Flaming red hair, brown eyes, freckles across her nose that she still often glared at in the mirror and quick, nimble fingers that was playing with a snitch, was shaken out of her reverie as she was sitting beside the window in The Burrow's kitchen and watching the rain outside by her father's shout. She frowned. Her father never shouted. In fact, the number of times Arthur Weasley had raised his voice could be counted on hand, and still it wouldn't cross more than two fingers. She could even remember him once preaching that raising your voice tended to affect you're your voice box very much. Not much that Ginny ever cared; her mother's shouting, though now lessened to a degree now that all her children had grown up, made up more than enough for that. So without further ado, she climbed the stairs quickly, and was surprised at the assembly in the twin's room. All of her brothers were present there. Now that, she concluded, meant the matter was more serious than the twins somehow managing to exchange Bill's robes with Fleur's one day. Although, that was a source of hearty laughter for many days to come.

"The thief stole again, dear!" Molly Weasley told her with a bit of trepidation in his voice, and, Ginny noted, with a bit of awe at the news. Ginny mentally rolled her eyes at the article on the newspaper, but snatched it out of Charlie's hand to read the article closely.

_THE THIEF STRIKES AGAIN!_

_It seems that the wizarding world is in for a serious bit of crime for the last two years. For those of our readers who aren't acquainted with the near-impossible feats of thefts this criminal has been executing in the past few years, we give a brisk overview:_

_Two years ago, there was intense uproar over the fact that heirlooms were disappearing from prominent pureblood families. In fact, there were even complaints of robberies, but there was no evidence of any forced occurrence, instead it seemed the heirlooms had been willingly given away. But we ask our readers; is it possible that rich and prominent names like Malfoy, Longbottom, Johnson, Nott, Avery and so on would give up their most treasured and jealously guarded possessions so easily? _

_And here comes in the unbelievable feats of theft. For this criminal appears to be a master at his crime: no piece of evidence can be directly traced to him. Yes, the only thing that the Aurors have been able to gain knowledge of (as told by a trusted source) is that a wizard, and a powerful one, is involved in this. He has masked his magical signature perfectly, has broken through all protective runes placed on the artifacts, and yet, has left no piece of evidence which may event pointto forced abduction of property. They have kept tabs on the local markets for any selling of the artifacts, but they had not turned up for sale. Then what might the thief be doing for this?_

_And now, the uproar is over the fact that a portrait of immense historical value has been stolen from the family of Greengrasses. It is one half of the portrait, that, rumor has it, had been drawn by both Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor in their early years of friendship. It showed a couple walking side by side in the sunset along the coast, which does stoke the ancient question of a possible romance between the two charismatic Founders. The portrait, was divided into two parts(it being massive) and one part, featuring Ravenclaw, was passed down her line, till it was bought by the Greengrasses, whom it had now been stolen from. The other half of the portrait, was, supposedly handed down the Gryffindor line, and then, had vanished. There has been no trace of that portrait for over more than half a millennia. And it is rumored that when the two halves would be joined, it would reflect on the lives of those two that brings it together, for it had a curious inscription on each half, as rumored: Neither can walk without the other._

_The Auror Office have issued their declarations that they are soon set to apprehend the thief, but the subtlety and the evasiveness of the Thief is sure to make it an exciting chase! We here at the Daily Prophet rest our hopes on our esteemed Aurors that they would make short work of this thefts and finally apprehend the criminal._

" I don't get it. " Bill said in a low whisper, "How _is _he being able to break through the runes? The only blasted place that he hadn't broken into yet is Gringotts!"

Ginny knew that Bill took his work seriously; hence if a prominent curse-breaker and an expert in runes like him was becoming agitated, then it must be a big thing. She tended to keep out all and any news; she had made this a habit since newspapers had started pairing her up with all and any prominent wizard since she caught the snitch in the league nineteen times in a row. But this, she was impressed. This thief, whoever he was, was doing a great job by the looks of it. The only thing that didn't add up was: what was he stealing them for? Family heirlooms had no magical property, they had only historical value. That also, most wizards digressed on, for those artifacts rarely told _anything _about the history of the wizarding world other than the bloodline which it was a property of. They had that kind of special importance to the bigoted Pureblood families only, though, Neville's grandmother had seemed to be a bit down after losing a ruby necklace passed down from the early Longbottoms.

"What _will _he do with a portrait, that," Ginny told as she read the article about the portrait in detail, "doesn't even move?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, "But the Auror Office is in uproar at the Ministry. According to them, it's a pretty hefty sum of galleons that one half will fetch. Maybe it's for the money?"

"I'd rather say-" George Weasley began,

"He's doing it-"Fred Weasley continued,

"For the sheer-"

"Thrill of it." They ended together.

"You guys are insufferable." Charlie stared at them. " You think he's getting past malevolently guarding wards, keeping his life on the line, and wiping all evidences, just for the thrill of it? There must be something behind all this."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley, I fear you may be correct." Minerva McGonagall said as she appeared with a _pop _at Charlie's shoulder.

"Hello Arthur, hello Molly, dear."

"Minerva! Sit down, sit down! You saw the _Prophet_?" Molly asked her.

McGonagall took a seat at the table, and sighed to herself.

"Yes, Molly. In fact, it is for that reason that I'm here."

Arthur Weasley sat down also, and all the Weasleys followed him along the table, everyone leaning towards McGonagall.

She cleared her throat, and adopted the crisp, Professorial voice that all the Weasleys were familiar with, and said, "Well, for starters, there has been a break-in at Gringotts."

"What!" Immediately, almost everyone shot to their feet. McGonagall said again, "Sit down, and listen the rest."

As all sat down, she said, "The Ministry has pressurized the Prophet into keeping the news out of the paper, as mass hysteria and panic might spread among the Wizarding population because of this. It seems, that early morning, the wards at a certain deep, underground vault at Gringotts flared a dark red, and the Goblins rushed to it immediately, sensing a break-in. However, they, surprisingly, did not succeed in apprehending the Thief. They're saying he adopted a surprising way to escape: he let loose quite a few Nifflers and succeeded in confounding them to burrow a deep tunnel together, through which he went and bludgeoned his way past the Goblin Guards, appearing straight at the door of Gringotts, and disapparated in full view in the Diagon Alley. The surprising fact is that no one managed to catch a glimpse of his face: such strong was his notice-me-not charm. Even the goblins didn't manage to do so."

"Albus was summoned, and the Minister practically begged him to take the artifact under his control and keep it in Hogwarts, but he surprisingly refused, saying he can't allow the risk of the Thief breaking into Hogwarts and endangering the wards. But he suggested another course of action: he said that the artifact might be given to the Weasleys, since it is obvious that for some unknown reason, they remain the only Purebloods to have not been targeted by the Thief."

All the Weasleys sat dumbstruck at the pronouncement, and watched as McGonagall expanded her bag and pulled out an ornate frame from it, housing a portrait, of a man with messy black hair and a strong body, adorned with rippling robes of scarlet and gold, walking along a beach, with his left arm around someone, at the point of which the frame of the portrait cut it off. Engraved in the bottom of the frame were the words: _Neither can walk without the other_. And, Ginny noted, some strands of flaming red hair were strewn across the man's left shoulder, signifying that someone had laid their head there.

"That is Gryffindor?" Almost all the Weasleys asked, except Ginny, who asked McGonagall, "Ravenclaw had _red _hair?"

McGonagall sent a strained smile at her, which clearly told, _I don't know much about Ravenclaw than you do,_ and turned to the other Weasleys, telling them that yes, that was Gryffindor, as was confirmed by the goblins. Yes, there had been no protraits of Gyffindor except this one, so he could only have appeared like this.

Arthur asked her, "Minerva, do you think this will work?"

"Albus assured me it will work that way."

Molly told her, "But Minerva, there-there's a reason why anything hasn't been stolen from us! We don't have any heirlooms handed down to us! Now you go giving us this, then that thief's going to come after us also!"

"Indeed, Molly," Albus Dumbledore said gravely, as he appeared with a _crack _at Fred's side, "Yes, I'm afraid he will, indeed. However, from a certain…..trusted source, I've come to know that the thief has been employed by smugglers who are supposedly selling the artifacts to rich wizards in other countries, and that, for this portrait, he has been set a deadline of a month. Already, one half of the portrait has been stolen. It's rumored that the Thief's employers are brutal; they kill if they're not delivered to on time. That has led me to the realization that _if _we could keep it out of his reach for only a month somehow, his employers will take care of him, and we'll breathe easy again. That's why I volunteered you; no other family is willing to take this chance."

"I'll do it." Ginny said abruptly.

"Ginevra Weasley! You will do no such thing!" Molly glared at her.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, mother! It's just a month, and I'm the only one who's free at the moment! The League still has three more months to start after! I can look after it all the time!"

"Then guard it carefully, Ms. Weasley,' Dumbledore told her, "Although it's not safe anywhere in Britain, I have my full confidence in you."

Ginny caught the sudden twinkling in his eyes.

"Not safe in Britain?" She mused for a moment, and took a deep breath, calculating her chances. If she could pull this off…"I'll go abroad then. I'll go out of the country. It'll be safe then."

The Weasleys again opened their moths, but Ginny held up a hand.

"Look, guys. You're all busy on your work; you can't just take a leave. That'll create suspicion. But I'm free. And you can't leave the country. I can. If I can just take it out of the country, his radius in which to search for becomes infinitely larger. He can search me out in the whole world, but that's going to take far more than a _month_. Look guys, I can pull this off. I stay in hiding for a month, keep the portrait all right, and we all breathe easy again."

"A nice plan, Ms. Weasley." Dumbledore said with a smile.

"It does have a high chance of succeeding. I get it that you'll start as early as you can?"

Ginny nodded.

"Very good. I wish you the best of luck. Our hopes rest on you. Have a nice day, everyone."

And he disapparated, as Ginny headed up to her room with the portrait.

Hundreds of miles away, the floo in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry burst into emerald fire, as a stranger burst out of the fireplace into the room, stumbling and coughing.

"Damn it," he muttered, "I still stumble. Brooms are much, much better than this."

"Welcome." He righted his round glasses to see an old man with pearly white hair and beard streaming down his back and front respectively, spread his arms wide, his eyes twinkling madly.

"Save it, Albus." He said, and stood up straight.

He was of medium height, and lithe in appearance, though his well-maintained muscles rippled under his t-shirt as he undid the scarlet robe he wore and draped it across a chair. Stretching with a groan, he accepted the glass of mulled mead that Albus Dumbledore handed to him, and thanking him, he turned to the fireplace and studied the flames, a thoughtful expression on his face, and the firelight reflected in his brilliant emerald eyes. He ran a hand through his messy hair, and closed his eyes and took a sip, enjoying the drink after an apparently tiring day.

"The escape was rather creative, I see." Albus said with a smile in his voice to the man, as the man turned to him and grimaced.

"Creative my ass. I almost got it. But at that moment, that stupid dragon had to wake up and start roaring. I got back on one piece to the tunnels in pure luck. It only helped that Hagrid's birthday gift of nifflers were still in my pocket. Otherwise, I'd had to fight my way out of there, and _that _certainly wasn't a happy though. Sirius and Dad is possibly laughing in his grave at me."

"Ah, you put too much pressure on yourself. However, I've managed to slip you a good chance, it seems."

"Oh?"

"Yes. That portrait needs to be out of this country like all others. You've got one half. You should be able to get the other half now that it's abroad."

"It's abroad now, is it?" there was a faint trace of amusement in the words.

"Yes." Albus Dumbldore's twinkling blue eyes held the gaze of the striking emerald eyes, as the man thanked Sirius Black mentally for suggesting that Dumbledore teach him Legilimency, for he didn't want the portraits in this blasted room to hear their whole plan.

"You didn't show me who the woman was. You didn't even show me her face. Why?"

"Where would the fun be if I had done that?"

And he knew Dumbledore wouldn't answer any more. So he sighed, and started pulling the robe onto himself again, evidently eager to leave now.

"How long?"

"Pardon me?" he turned to the old man.

"I said, how long will this continue, Harry? We could've curbed the problem in better ways than this. How long will you charade as a thief?"

Harry smiled at Dumbledore cynically, and looked to the fire.

"Are not we _all _a thief in the end, Albus? We are fleeing. We are stealing precious moments of life from Death, which will come at the end. I am fleeing from my actions. Myself. My past. My present. For the hope of a better future. Which we all, in the end, are doing in some way or the other. Yes, this will end someday, Albus. I'll go away. In some unknown city, in some unknown world, in some unknown life, with an unknown name. But it's time for me to seal the deal. One half remains. I'll go now. Good night, Albus."

With that, he stepped into the emerald flames, and vanished, as Albus Dumbledore silently crossed his fingers for one, last, theft to succeed.

"This is going to be interesting, Fawkes." He told the phoenix by his side, which let out a trill that sounded like a hearty assent at his words.


	2. Chapter 2: What you want, I want also

Lying on a bed, a messy-haired, emerald-eyed man twirled his wand in his fingers absent-mindedly and thought about his final task. After this, he'll be free. Aloud, he spoke out wistfully, "I only wish if _somebody _had remembered little old me taking on the tosser."

Ginny sighed as she stood beside the window, her face soaking in the sunlight, enjoying the welcoming warmth. Warmth. That was what was necessary for the Wizarding World, in her opinion.

Many were boisterous. Many were cold. Many were courteous. Many were arrogant. But none was warm, like her family. Dumbledore exuded a certain sense of comfort, but not warmth, no, not to her. Warmth to her, was waking up and lumbering down to the kitchen and inhaling the delicious smell of breakfast and basking in the warmth of Molly Weasley's love and the hilarity of the Twins' jokes. Hence, away from home, it was a bit of a surprise to her when she found herself enjoying the warmth of the Sun, basking in it, for the first time.

She remembered the cold; none of them would ever forget. The cataclysmic battle. In which so many died. The cold. The death. The helplessness and despair spread by the dementors. The memories frosted up the glass of her soul even more than the rasping, foul breath of any dementor. Even then, she, like the entirety of the Wizarding World, meant something was missing. Yes, about the battle. Death Eaters had finally invaded Hogwarts for one last battle, and all able wizards and witches had rushed to Hogwarts to fight for their sides. Ginny had only been just of age when the battle had been fought. It was by sheer luck that all of them had made through that horrid night alive. She still remembered the wild eyes of McGonagall as she ushered the under-aged towards the secret passageway of Aberforth's shop. She still remembered the terrifying sight of all the teachers standing side by side casting their own spells, and finally, Dumbledore bringing down his wand on the ward stone of Hogwarts, and the transparent shield weaving over Hogwarts.

That had been when she had started to feel the creeping cold; not for nothing was Voldemort a skilled tactician; he had sent the dementors ahead, and as they drained hope and spread despair amongst the defenders, it was becoming more and more difficult for the protectors to hold their control on their shields. Till, Ginny tried to remember, someone had turned up at Dumbledore's side, someone she had never seen before…no, she just remembered a medium statured, lithe yet sinewy form, yet the face she could not remember…damn, it must have been a really powerful Notice-me-not charm!

She only remembered that the person had had a silent conversation with Dumbledore, after which Dumbledore declared they would be taking the fight to the Death Eaters. And all hell had broken loose. She remembered fighting for dear life, throwing curses wherever she could, and she remembered….Dumbledore and Voldemort fighting. Although, age had been telling on Dumbledore, till Voldemort had finally managed to blast him across the Great Hall. Everyone had frozen. They had thought that all was lost. But no….Ginny struggled to remember again. The memory was sleeping in and out of focus, and she kept a firm hold on it, till…..it cleared up considerably. But she still couldn't see the face of the stranger who had stepped up and boldly challenged Voldemort then and there.

They had duelled fiercely, their magic dancing around with passion, and she now remembered that both wizards had been moving amazingly fast, and casting complex spells and magic like simple levitation charms. In the end, though…..what happened? Ginny suddenly reared back in pain, clutching at her head. There were two memories that she was seeing at once. How was this possible?

One memory showed a lot of people converging on Voldemort, and a huge barrage of spells at him, under which he finally collapsed.

The other memory was a little out of focus, but it showed a completely different thing: the stranger narrowly missing a killing curse and firing off a barrage of curses, and being responded by another killing curse, which, he miraculously managed to deflect by suddenly conjuring at the last moment a metal ball, which he rotated at the moment of impact, so that the curse, instead of clashing with it, simply glanced off it, and sped in the direction of the Dark Lord, who was too late to disapparate, and struck him on the chest, and he fell.

And there was…..darkness.

When Ginny had woken up, the immense pain in her head had faded a lot, but not fully. Her head still seemed to throb. She gingerly tried to re-view the memory of the Dark Lord's death, but she was met with only one memory: a stranger killing the Dark Lord by rebounding his own curse on him.

Strangely, it seemed like she had had that memory all along. Except that her memory of the last few minutes told him that she hadn't. This, really, was turning out to be a lot of a mystery. But she felt immense anger at the man who defeated the Dark Lord.

He could have stayed and helped them rebuild the Wizarding World! Instead, he left, and left the world to the Pureblood aristocrats again, who refused to let go of their obsolete ideas and bigoted beliefs and mad the entire society that again! Honestly, she wondered if they'd ever lose their vanity and love of the past. They were not all bad, but they had to learn that you can only move on to the future, not return to the past. That's why they had to lose those artifacts in the first place, she told herself. They attached too much importance to those lifeless things, and now that those are gone, their over-blown sizes of self-importance was rapidly dwindling, their "advanced" runes and protections, the "purity" of the blood that couldn't even hold on to a little thing like an ancestor's teapot was making the common folk laugh at them. Ginny shrugged and banished the thoughts away. She didn't care for politics. Heck, as long as it wasn't affecting Quidditch or giving rise to another Dark Lord. Well, not a dark lord, but a Dark Thief, she laughed aloud at the idea. Seriously, where had the standards fallen?

She grimaced to herself. Now, she was stuck here, far away from home, although in a luxurious hotel, but still, a virtual prisoner here, with the portrait, for a month. Damn that thief! She cursed mentally. Although, she debated….yes, she could be a little free with her money here. As it is, being a Quidditch star meant that her account always saw a fair bit of gold, and she had yet something to spend it on…..not that she was extravagant by nature, but she could indulge herself once in a while. Yeah, a portrait or so might look really good on the walls of her own house as she'd buy one later, or for now, her room in The Burrow. At least, it'll make her brothers jealous. She grinned to herself. She definitely liked the idea.

A sudden thought struck her. Dumbledore. The man was really omniscient, it seemed. He had filled her on Muggle customs and details, and paid special attention to Muggle transactions, or, more specifically, as Ginny remembered, Auctions. Really, she had to thank him for providing her with all the muggle events that'll take place in this city. This place had a good auction place; she might try her luck over there on getting some pretty thing to adorn her wall. It also helped that she had enough Muggle currency with her, again, as advised by Dumbledore, who, his eyes twinkling, had told her that she'd be able to "indulge" herself in muggle delights every now and then for that month. Somehow, that old man knew everything. Ginny sighed to herself. Figuring out Dumbledore had lesser odds on Luna finally managing to convince the public somehow that crumple-horned snorckacks really existed. With a sigh, she stepped into the bathroom, freshening herself up for the excitement, she hoped, the auction might hold.

The woman with sunglasses, freckles across her nose and fiery red hair, was attracting a fair bit of attention, among those she sat. Several men had been openly staring at her, but somehow she must have been glaring quite splendidly through the sunglasses, because they all shifted their gazes elsewhere, though, from time to time, they did return to her. But all this came to a stop, when the auctioneer started presenting the articles and calling out the base-prices.

Some antique cup, pedestal…..Ginny was really getting bored. Between the ogling of the men and the worthless things that were popping up, she thought that her day was officially going to hell. When, suddenly, things got a lot more interesting as a portrait entered the fray, and another man entered the auction-room, though she didn't notice him in her excitement at finally a portrait arriving, even though it was of a fiery horse trotting through shadows.

But others noticed the man though, as he walked and sat over to a seat. Messy black hair reaching down to his eyes, a brilliant emerald green, a strange lightning-shaped scar adorning his forehead, a chiselled face, a sarcastic smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and chequered green-and-silver blazer and jeans. People raised their eyebrows at the colour combination, but wisely, didn't say anything. Everyone who was present here knew that everyone here was a big player some way or the other; and nobody wanted to piss off anybody. Without a valid reason. And colour schemes just didn't fall into that category.

He turned his gaze around, and smiled to himself. It appears that he had been bang on time: there was a portrait out for display, and the red-headed woman certainly had her hopes up high for it. Well, Harry hated to disappoint people, but then again, he had disappointed a lot of people by going through wards that _shouldn't _have been broken through. It happens, he told himself, as he kept an ear out of the base price.

"This is a portrait by…."

Harry tuned the auctioneer off, and instead watched the redhead. He had no interest in knowing who was the idiot who had made the portrait. He preferred watching people to portraits. And, this, was a very interesting specimen. Oh, she was magic, he knew. It was easy to understand. He could literally feel her magical signature in such a large bunch of muggles. And he also knew what she was doing here. Harry mentally re-evaluated a plan and tweaked it a bit. He knew the old man wouldn't be pleased, but who cares. He could have fun with his work, starting with this redhead.

Ginny laughed mentally as she heard the base price. Twenty-five thousand dollars? Oh for the sake of Merlin! Still, she shrugged, and raised the little post with had her number on it.

"Twenty-six thousand dollars, from number 43. Anyone wishing to further that sum for their claim? Twenty-six thousand dollars."

Apparently someone did, for the auctioneer said,

"Twenty-seven thousand dollars, from number 67. Anyone wishing to further that sum for their claim? Twenty-seven thousand dollars."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and decided she'd get it over with the opposition quick. She raised three of the five posts she had.

The auctioneer seemed greatly pleased. "Thirty thousand dollars, from number 43! Anybody wishing to further that bet? Anybody? Thirty thousand dollars!"

A buzz from the end of the room told her somebody did further that sum, for she saw the auctioneer's face comically open and close, as he suddenly burst out,

"Thirty-five thousand dollars, from number 67! Anybody wishing to further that bet? Anybody? Anybody?"

Ginny swore under her breath. No wonder another of those business tycoon idiots, thinking he was playing with her. Well, she'll show him. She raised all five posts.

"Forty thousand dollars, from number 43!The painting does seem to be in great demand. Anybody wishing to further that? Anybody?"

Again, whisperings broke out from the end, and Ginny now turned back in her seat, to see the man holding up five posts again, and gazing at her impassively. He had messy black hair falling into his eyes, which were an emerald green, his face was angular, fair, had a bit of stubble on his chin and cheeks, and was in a suit of the most outrageous colour scheme she had ever seen, leaving out Dumbledore's fashion sense. Incensed, she raised five posts.

"It's now fifty thousand dollars from number 43! This is going to be an exciting contest! Anybody wishing to further? Aha…number 67 again! Fifty-five thousand dollars fro number 67!"

Ginny sighed. The man was really an evil git. She decided she'd get another portrait for herself when that bastard wouldn't be around. She just couldn't justify spending so much money because of an egotistical jerk who didn't know when to stop. Biting her lip, she didn't raise her post.

"And it is sold! To the gentleman at sixty-seven! Congratulations to you! Next item is…"

Ginny stood up, and made her way out of the room. Staring after her for some seconds, Harry also stood up, gave the man packing up the portrait his address and a good sum, and strolled out of the room, whistling to himself.


	3. Chapter 3: I just wanted to meet you

Ginny stretched luxuriously in the car, enjoying the feeling of being conveyed somewhere by something without having to undergo the uncomfortable squeezing feeling of Apparition. She had been noting down several things before she left Britain; she had determined that she'd go to a Muggle City, where no wizards apparently lived. As it turned out, there were plenty. So, feeling a desire to be near to the sea and the right warmth of the Sun, she had chosen this city. And, she had desisted using magic for quite a bit of time; except, disillusioning the portrait of Godric Gryffindor and placing some high-security wards around it, in her spacious bungalow near the sea beach.

When she came here, she had been doubtful whether she'd enjoy living without much magic; but to her delightful surprise, she had found that she didn't mind much. Of course, she still _reparo_'d things, and occasionally discreetly _scourgify _any coffee stains on her dress, but apart from that, she was rather enjoying having not to use magic at every beck and call. She was wandering around the city, rather interested in Muggle customs and dealings, and raiding stores selling antique pieces. To her disgust, several of them sold faked things, which she thankfully determined with a bit of magic. Already, it was a week. She counted mentally; still three weeks to go, and they'll be free of that thief forever.

But however hard she was trying, she could not get her mind off the portrait she had so desperately wanted to buy at the auction today; the simple image of a fiery horse coming out from the shadows had a special appeal to her; it reminded her of herself, coming out from her brothers' shadow to be the Quidditch star she was today. Also, it reminded her of the Wizarding world, of the lives of them all, that had come out from their shadows after the Dark Lord's defeat and death. They were still coming out of the shadows, she mused. The purebloods still held sway over the Minstry, but they were being forced to retreat. The thefts had done a good job in one end: although it had led to a never-ending headache for the Auror Corps, still, the very act of theft from under a nose of a Pureblood family had given a nasty blow to their public image and their refusal to let go of their bigoted views.

Ginny was no half-wit; she knew exactly, that the view upon which a society operated was the view which was considered to be _powerful_. The purebloods, had , till now, appeared to the public as powerful, hence, even though the public had their opinions, like the general sheep, they had surrendered to the Pureblood bigotry. But now, the lords were being made a fool of in the public eye; their reputations were hitting an all-time low; they weren't appearing powerful; hence the public was slowly pushing aside their views. They were asking a simple question: if all-good blood purity couldn't stop a mere thief, then why will we place so much importance on it? Ginny liked where this was going.

No wonder the Ministry was so eager to have the Thief arrested, she sighed. Last she had heard, the Ministry were trying to get a kiss-on-sight order out for the Thief. But still, they didn't even know the face of the Thief, let alone his name, or a single detail. But they were eager to have the threat to the purebloods wiped out as fast as possible.

She forcibly pushed aside all these thoughts, and told herself, that no, she wasn't here to think about politics. She was here, to think of eluding the thief, and to have a long enjoyable vacation, which she was really starting to enjoy.

As her car stopped before the gates of her bungalow for the routine check for weaponry and all, she hummed to herself lazily. The gates opened, and a guard knocked on the glass of her window. She discreetly took out her wand, and took down the glass, wand In hand for precaution. The guard just spoke in a monotone.

"A gentleman sent this for you, ma'am."

And he showed her a large suitcase. She raised her eyes at it, and wondered what the hell was the whole matter about. A quick, discreet check with her wand told her it was nothing malicious. So she nonchalantly told the guard, "Put it in the car."

The guard went onto the other side of the car, opened the door, and left beside her, on the seat, the suitcase, and saluting, motioned to the driver to continue on his way.

Ginny cautiously opened the suitcase, and to her surprise, nearly dropped it. For inside it, was a portrait. The portrait of a fiery horse, coming out from dark shadows, adorned in an ornate, golden frame. As she looked at it with open admiration, a note fell out from behind it, and she picked it up, and read it.

_A little gift from mine to the lovely lady who really wanted it. Dinner at 8. At Leann &amp; Croft's. Table no. 47._

She stormed into the extravagant restaurant, her eyes fiery brown, glaring at anybody who seemed to look at her for more than five seconds with such intensity, that they hastily turned away and put a lot of distance between herself and them. In her hands, was a rather large suitcase. The waiter offered his help with that, but she waved him away, and asked the manager,

"Table no. 47?"

The manager looked around, and told her pleasantly,

"Ah, there, ma'am! The table with that delightful man in green!"

And she turned, and looked straight past quite a few tables, into the emerald eyes of a messy-haired man who sat at a distant table, staring at her with an unfathomable smile on his face. Ginny grimaced. At least today he wasn't in his horrid sense of fashion, but still, the emerald shirt he wore, though nicely complimenting his eyes, was drawing quite a bit of female attention from all around the restaurant.

She stormed her way straight to him, and glared at him, standing behind her chair. He held her gaze impassively, emerald eyes boring into fiery brown.

" . . ?!" She spoke through gritted teeth.

The man stared impassively at her again, not even removing his eyes from her. Then, he did an odd thing. He smiled, and said, in a smooth, measured voice,

"Please. We are allowed to sit."

Ginny closed her eyes, and counted to ten. This man had picked on her nerves in the morning, and now he was doing it in the evening also. What did this man want?

For the sake of politeness, she allowed herself to take the seat opposite to the man, at the round table he was sitting. He had a glass of wine before him, and he was gently tapping an index finger on the glass, watching her intently, and then, he took a sip.

"You contested with me for this portrait at the auction. And you won it. Now, you are gifting that same portrait you took so much pain to get, to me. What is all this for?"

Ginny watched his face carefully, to see if that betrayed any emotion. But, the man's face remained as impassive as it was earlier. There was no flicker of emotion on his face. It was carefully composed. Ginny evaluated him in his mind. The man could be magical. He might not be a muggle. He might be a master occlumens, hence no expression on his face. Even if he was a wizard, he had to be a pretty powerful one to mask the feeling of his magic among all these muggles from her. She only knew one man who could do that; Dumbledore. But this man was no Dumbledore. Or, if the man was really a muggle, then he somehow had great integrity and control over his emotions. This, might turn out to be a problem. She decided she'd watch him for now, and think later. She looked back at him intently, scanning the emerald eyes for any inclination to talk.

Evidently, the man had been watching her intently also, for he had not said anything while she was thinking. It seemed that he spoke softly just when Ginny finished her thinking and looked at him for his response. Although, what he told, was beyond her imagination.

He told, "I wanted…to meet you."

If Ginny was annoyed before, she was nonplussed now. What was this man meaning? She told him, "There are other ways to meet, you know."

"True. But this, is my way." He answered impassively.

"Do you meet women often this way?" Ginny asked him, hoping to anger him, and getting something more than cryptic answers out of him.

The corners of his mouth turned up in such a way that Ginny perfectly understood she had been caught. While she was looking ashamed at being caught so early in her game, he told her, "No. I only sought to meet you this way."

Ginny's head jerked up, and a light blush colored her cheeks. The fact that he had gone to the lengths of buying a portrait at ridiculous amounts only to gift and consequently make her come to meet him, was not exactly hidden in its meaning. Ginny knew few men went such lengths, and she, though a bit annoyed, was flattered. All this time long she had been seeing him as a competitor; now, she started noting little things about him; like how the lazy smile on his face was a little crooked enchantingly; like how his eyebrows slanted upwards in amusement when he caught her; like how, he seemed to be in deep thought, but his eyes seemed to fixated on her; like how, he was making her feel just with a single admittance even when she was initially, royally annoyed with him.

Harry was watching the redheaded woman sitting in front of him; he had seen a lot of beautiful women. But never had they been able to occupy his mind so long as to make him go to such lengths to just meet them. She was beautiful, yes; but many were beautiful. But, there was something about her, something, that, he admitted, was drawing him in. Maybe it was the flash of fire in her brown eyes in irritation as he gave a cryptic answer; maybe it was the thoughtful turn of her scarlet lips when she was scanning him intently; maybe, it was the little wind that wafted a smell of broomsticks and treacle tart, and a flowery smell from her, to him, that he was getting light-headed in. Yes, he admitted to himself, this was going to be a great game. This woman was like no other; and, she'll be making the month all the more interesting. But, some part of his mind roared at him to shut up and leave her be, because she wasn't someone who he should be playing the game with. Harry pondered; he was now too near to what he had wanted to do to back down. This woman who was drawing him in, and stoking the fire of his conscience so dangerously, had the last thing that he would require to finally be free, to achieve what he had started all those years ago. Presently though, he wrenched his mind from the possible repercussions of his work and decided to concentrate on her, a fact on which, he noted with slight trepidation, that both his mind and heart agree wholly to. They never agree! Breaking him out of her reverie, he could see her smiling. A little bit of mockery, a part of amusement, and a healthy tint of humoring him, was mixed in that smile.

She leaned towards him, and stage-whispered, "You seem to have an answer to any question."

Letting a smile adorn his face, he also leaned towards her, and stage-whispered in the same way, "Or maybe it is that you are asking the easy questions."

She blushed again, and he admired her. _How lovely._

Then, Ginny looked down at her hands, and her eyes fell on the portrait. She admitted to herself that yes, she was having an enjoyable time, but still, she couldn't take this portrait. Such a gift was…well, would make memories go sour if he came to know and despise _what _she was. So she didn't look at him, and said, "Look, I…I'm flattered, but…but, I can't take this. You shouldn't be giving me this."

He watched her for a few moments, and she started fidgeting. He then said, "Why not?"

She nervously looked around, and seemed to work up her courage to say something to him. Harry waited patiently. She leaned forward, and determinedly looked into his eyes, brown into emerald green. She said, "I don't even know your name."

Harry mentally said, _Game on._ He also leaned forward, and smiling, whispered to her, "Sometimes, it doesn't have much of an importance to be known."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. There must be some reason why he wasn't telling his name. But from his tone, she understood he won't be giving away his name. That's not much of a problem, she thought. She hadn't told him her name, she delightfully remembered. _Two can play this game, Mister_. She thought with a smile. But leaving that aside, she had to know why he was doing what he was doing. Yes, it might be that he liked her. But then also, any rich man doesn't go about making that known this way. Yes, that ought to be a good reason why she shouldn't take….she told him,

"Look, what do you want from me? I don't understand, why you're giving me this. You must want something, anything, from me! I can't take this at free!"

"You're right." He told impassively.

Ginny readied herself. Yes, now the man would be showing his true colors. Either he'll be asking to sleep with her, or have a relationship with her, or….anything that rich, spoiled men might possibly want by getting leverage on any woman of equal standing, she knew. She drew out her wand under the table, ready to hex and obliviate him into leaving her alone then. But, he said anything. He only walked up to where the band was playing, and whispered to them something, and came back. He stood beside her, and asked her, again, surprising her beyond her imagination,

"I do want something from you. Would you care for it to be a dance?" and held out his hand.

Shocked, Ginny didn't even know that her hand had accepted his, and she had risen out of her seat to stand in front of him, one hand in his, and the other on his shoulder, while his free hand rested on her waist, sending warm tingles up her body. Only when he started leading her, did she realize what was happening. She blushed fiercely. She was notorious for stepping on feet of her partners, but he seemed to elegantly avoid that happening, and yet, lead her perfectly. She, for the first time in her life, was truly enjoying dancing with a man. As he twirled her and spun her out, she thought she'd be tripping on her heels, but a strong hand encircled her stomach, and gracefully drew her to him close, so close that she could feel his chest muscles on her back, and his warm breath tickling her neck. She shivered, and asked him softly, "I fear the others here are going to start whistling any time now."

He laughed softly, and whispered in her ear, "Look around you. Nobody would whistle. Nobody is allowed to whistle at such a beautiful woman with _me _at _my _restaurant."

She gasped. He owned this place? She could feel him smiling against her hair at her surprise.

"You really are one rich man."

He spun her around, and looked into her eyes, their noses touching almost.

"This dance makes me all the more richer."

Ginny blushed fiercely at the compliment, and found themselves moving close together. He lead her perfectly, and spinning her around for a final time, came dangerously closer to her face. They stood there, both fearing to even breathe for the fear that it might ruin the perfect silence that was adorning the moment. Harry struggled to break through the sudden light-headedness that had taken hold of him and the fierce desire that consumed him to kiss those perfect lips before him. Ginny waited with bated breath, eyes fluttering close, breathing heavily in the tensed air between them. With a heavy sigh, Harry tore his concentration from her, and slowly, moved back. Ginny stared at him with an unfathomable expression. With a sad smile, he took up Ginny's hand, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm honored that I chose to contest with you that afternoon in the auction rooms. Thank you for the evening." He said neutrally.

"Thank you." Ginny said.

He smiled at her, and strolled past her, out of the restaurant, where at the entrance, he half-turned and smiled at her. Then, whistling merrily, he went out.

And Ginny concluded that this month was going to be really, really interesting.


	4. Chapter 4: Catch me If you can

Ginny was at the porch of her bungalow, rearranging some flower pots, when she saw him. Evidently, this emerald-eyed handsome stranger knew where she lived.

_Bloody Stalker_, she smiled mentally, blushing at the idea of _him_ tracking _her_. Of course, he was a muggle, and that was trouble. But Ginny was enjoying herself too much to think of all that. She already found herself liking this emerald-eyed stranger who had simply _gifted _his way into her life because of that one portrait she went for in that auction. In her world, people rarely saw her as a separate entity other than a Quidditch star, or a Heroine of the Last Battle at Hogwarts. _Heroine_, Ginny scoffed. The Dark Lord had already proven time and again that he alone was enough to beat the shit out of them. As long as the head of the snake existed, the battle could never be won. So whoever did anything heroic, was that stranger who appeared and dueled Voldemort to the Dark Lord's death. Ginny wrenched her mind from the dark path it was going on, and turned towards the emerald eyed stranger at his gates, a smile in his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

_A real gentleman, brought flowers_.

Ginny intentionally strolled towards the gate at a leisured pace, to make him wait longer. To her dismay, he seemed to be perfectly at ease, only raising an eyebrow at her in amusement.

"Good Morning." She said.

"Your beauty makes the morning beautiful, so I'd rather call it a beautiful morning." A light smile played on his face as he cast a look at her from foot upto to her head, quite openly. Ginny blushed deep scarlet.

"They say that the Sun rises in the East. But judging from the color of your face, I'd say it rises from here." He deadpanned.

"You do believe that you're sounding rather corny?" She asked, still unable to shrug off the scarlet from her cheeks. "And do the honor, Your Majesty, of coming into my humbled abode." Ginny sarcastically ended.

In response, Harry dropped on one knee, took her hand, and kissed it exaggeratingly, and offered the bouquet to her, which she dropped, and it broke to pieces.

Without thinking, Ginny quickly had her wand out and cast a _Reparo _and the bouquet repaired itself. Then she remembered him, and quickly flung an _Obliviate _at him, and was shocked to find it repelled perfectly by a shimmering blue shield in front of him, a stick protruding out of his hand, definitely a wand.

_I see I'm not the only one hiding secrets,_ Ginny thought, and narrowed her eyes at him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, and tried to change the topic, by saying,

"About the roses, I-" and whipped out a rose, and tapped it with his wand. It replicated, each replica a different color, and made itself into a bouquet. Impressive spellwork, she thought. And he gave it to her then. She smelled the flowers, and was delighted at the aroma. He smiled at her in a way, that clearly said: _Your call now_.

"Stay there." Ginny ordered him." I'll change and come. We are going for a walk."

(line break)

A gentle breeze was blowing, ruffling Harry's messy hair, as he walked, hands in pocket of his jeans, beside Ginny, who was admiring the rather windswept look that Harry carried. Wisely though, she had opted for sunglasses, so that her eyes couldn't be monitored for which direction they were taking. Harry had only raised his eyebrows at that, and then shrugged off his amusement. Currently, both of them were walking by the side of a fountain, and enjoying the cool day and the feel of being near to the sea.

"So a wizard, tired of magic, came here to live as a muggle for a bit, and also obscenely rich. How have I not heard of you? You even sound British!" Ginny said.

Harry replied, "You're welcome to take guesses, you know."

"I know!" Ginny said, and Harry whirled around. "You must be a Pureblood lord! That explains the money!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Does it really? And I'm a half-blood, for your information."

"It's just impossible I've never heard of you." Ginny threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Not everyone's a Quidditch Star, though I'd love to be one."

_Oh, so he does know who I might be, or who exactly I am,_ Ginny thought with frustration. _And I still can't guess for my life who he might be._

"You like Quidditch?" Ginny asked, hoping to draw him out on that one. Harry looked at her strangely, then said,

"Of course. I played it. Used to feel really good."

"Which position?"

"Seeker."

"You must be good then. Seekers automatically make for superbly fit and fast magicals." Ginny concluded.

"And you're saying that Star Chasers like you are not?" Harry asked with a smile.

"Of course, I meant that was all _after _Chasers." Ginny said sweetly.

Harry's eyes danced with mirth, and he looked away, laughing.

"You're a strange man." Ginny said, observing him closely.

"I've been told so." Came the amused reply.

"Well, I think I _can _ask what work you do?" Ginny asked.

"You mean besides talking to a beautiful Quidditch Star?" Harry winked at her. Ginny blushed, and said, "Thanks, but don't you dare changing the subject!"

Harry laughed, and beckoned her closer. Looking intrigued, she leant closer to him. He smiled, and told her in a sort of conspiring voice, "See, I-collect things, and I-sell them to people who often, buy them for much money."

"You sound like a bit of a smuggler." Ginny said in mock horror.

"No fear." Harry winked at her, "You're too good to be smuggled. I might just be keeping you."

Ginny blushed scarlet, and shoved him. Both of them laughed for a while. Then Harry said, "What do you want to do with your life?"

"I-" Ginny thought for a moment, and then said, "I want people to treat me _normal_ for once. I want a family of my own. A home, kids running around, pots and utensils clanking…" Ginny laughed. "Look at me….it's like I'm making The Burrow II."

"What's The Burrow I?" Harry asked.

"My home." Ginny said. "Along with overprotective gits for brothers, great parents, mad owls, mad ghoul…..yeah, pretty much a home."

"Tell me about them." Harry said eagerly, and Ginny noted that for some purpose, he was sincerely interested in learning about a family. Does he not know what a family is? She wondered.

"Well, mom is….mom. Dad is a muggle-lover and dabbler in muggle _appliances _and likes causing accidents with his experimentation on muggle and magic, great man nonetheless. I have six lovable idiots as brothers. Bill, the cool and eldest; Charlie, loves dragons more than himself, Percy, who behaves like the President of Uranus, Fred and George, the coolest brothers, though prats and twins, and pranksters to boot. Ron, the youngest of the lot, only elder to me, loves Chudley Cannons and my friend muggle-born Hermione, though I'm not sure which one more; I don't think even he knows." Ginny finished with a laugh, and looked at Harry. He seemed wistful, and stared off into the distance, his expression bitter. She felt concerned.

"If you don't mind…what about you?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "There's not…much of a good story like yours, I'm afraid. My parents were murdered when I was one. During the first War." He clarified, and continued, "My godfather, or," he again smiled a wistful smile, "I should say _dogfather_, brought me up. Another friend of my father, a werewolf, but again, a great man, taught me a great many things. They took care of me well. But no parents. No brothers. It was more like a….partnership, with my godfather, than a true family. He was a father at times. At times, a friend. At times, he tried to be a mother. At times, he tried to be a _dog_father," Harry quizzically told, "And at times, he was mostly an overgrown child, but lovable nonetheless. I don't have them anymore." To Ginny's questioning gaze, he impassively told, "Both my godfather my father's friend were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. A great many fought, including me. They died to save me."

"You were there?" Ginny said.

"Yeah," His eyes grew dark, "I saw the bloodshed. The killings. Yeah, I was there to see the men who brought me up from one die in front of my eyes, one at the hands of his estranged cousin, and other at the hands of a Death Eater."

"I'm so sorry.." Ginny took his hand and squeezed it.

"Don't be. Like I said, I've got past the pain. They would never had liked it if I wallowed in eternal misery, they often used to tell me, even before they died. I'm just honoring their last wishes."

Ginny felt really bad for him. "Is that why you're so tired of magic?" She asked.

"Yes, I am." He turned to her. "Killing's easy, healing's easy, everything's made more or less easy by magic, so much so that we forget how difficult it is actually to _do _things normally. If we knew how _not _easy it was to take a life, or to mend a broken bone, or to replenish blood…then, there might not have been so many killings. I often wonder…you know, maybe because we know we can _reparo _a flower vase from its broken remnants, we forget to save it from being broken first. Guess all thing in life do not mend so easily by a _reparo _as a flower vase does."

Ginny squeezes his hand, and he offered her a wane smile. She felt how the War had touched all of their lives. She had been so lucky that nobody of her family had suffered seriously. This man, had lost his entire family. No wonder he'll be tired of the magical world and its ways. And from the way he put it…..Ginny privately agreed that yes, as long as anything was reparable, they didn't take much stock in keeping it intact the first time. This cardinal problem in attitude gave them Dark Lords and Avada Kedavras. To shift the mood, she asked him,

"Now that you're away from the Magical World, what do you wish to do with your life?"

Harry leaned closer to her.

"I have some work to be done over here." He said, "I'm eager to finish that. After that? I'll disappear."

"Oh, you will?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. His face broke into a gentle smile.

"Yes, I will." He said, "To some unknown land, in an unknown city, with an unknown name, I'll start an unknown life."

"Will you tell me before you embark on such a grand adventure of the unknown?" Ginny asked.

Harry smiled a crooked smile at her, which crinkled his eyes and took Ginny's breath away. "You will never come." He asserted.

Ginny smiled and stood up from where they'd been sitting. She strolled over to the seaside bar as Harry followed, an unreadable expression on his face.

(line break)

Harry was relaxing in the hot bath of his hotel suite, reveling in the feeling of the hot water in which he was immersed, as he spread his arms wide and rested them on the steps of the bath and looked at the Wizarding Wireless Radio before him, stuck to the wall by a sticking charm. He was listening to the news and an interview with Auror Gawain Robards, ironically about _himself._

The reporter was saying, "So Auror Robards, you're saying that you're close to catching the Thief?"

There was a sound of shuffling about, as though Robards had turned where he was sitting. "Yes, we are." His voice sounded. "He is undoubtedly very clever, he doesn't leave any clue behind that we can follow up on. Till yet, we only have a rough sketch of what he looks like."

Harry laughed. He had _seen _the sketch; only his eyes could be seen. He was sure nobody had seen his face while stealing. The black mask did well to hide his face. Robards continued. "But rest assure, we will be catching this criminal mastermind. However wily he might be, he will _have _to lose to us, because in the end, that is what happens."

"Yeah, you fucked-up bastards," Harry muttered scathingly, "We all know how the Auror corps _absolutely decimated_ the Death Eaters; why, they even took out the _Dark Lord_!" He ended mockingly. Meanwhile, Robards had continued again.

"We know he's after the remaining half of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's painting, and we know he's not in Britain. Aurors are abroad in the country we _know _he is, and we _will _be catching him soon. Have you heard of the stories of criminals and aurors? The justice force always prevails, and it _will_ prevail in this case also!"

By now, Harry had got out from the bath, and had slipped on jeans and dragon hide armor beneath the skin-huggin black t-shirt he wore. He was staring at the large windows, down to the bustling city with its heavy traffic below. He took out his wand, and pointed at the radio, and immediately a screeching started, and then cleared, the interviewer shouting, "What's this? Who is this tapping into an interview? Immediately remove yourself from a radio program! You aren't registered on the wave for this time!"

"By the decree for Broadcasting Relations, hereby you,trespasser are not allowed to-" Robards started, but was cut off by a sharp, mocking voice.

"Auror Robards." Harry spoke.

There was a great deal of shuffling heard, as if everyone in the radio station had been fighting to get closer to the wave-emitters.

"Who are you?" Robards asked in a suspicious voice.

"You don't mean you don't recognize me? " Harry said in a hurt voice, "Awww, come on! Here I thought all of the Auror Corps had fallen in love with me! Where's a little bit of love when I need it?"

"You are the Thief! Listen here, we have your location, surrender now and you still might be-" Robards was cut off again by the sharp voice of Harry.

"You know nothing." There was a pause, and he continued. "Yes, Auror Robards. .Nothing. Of where I am, when you don't even have a picture of what I _actually _look like or a record of my magical signature. I _will _be stealing this half of the portrait, and there's nothing you can do to stop me; you don't even know where the portrait is, but _I _know. So cut the bullshit, you shouldn't even dream of catching me. But keep on trying. With time, you might actually come to know the color of my eyes. " Harry said sarcastically, "So please keep on assuring the Wizarding sheep population that nothing will be stolen. Good luck with that."

There was silence, and Robards had opened his mouth to say something, when the mocking voice wafted in again.

"Oh, and Auror Robards? You told about the story of criminals and aurors. Sorry, I don't have any story to tell you guys. I've got to say only one thing though:

_Catch me, if you can._" The voice laughed, and with another screeching, the radio station knew that the invisible intruder had left their particular frequency of wave.

On the twentieth storey of the hotel, Harry opened the window, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and flung him out. He fell for four or five floors, reveling in the gust of air surrounding him. Then he twisted his body in mid-air, and with a resounding _Crack! , _he vanished into thin air.


	5. Chapter 5: We'll meet again

The old man sitting at the seaside restaurant, absent-mindedly tapping on a glass of drink, seemed to be ordinary at first. But if seen closely, one could see the crinkles around his eyebrows that drew his eyes down somewhat, telling of the man's age, that had seen many springs more than any man normally saw. Still, he was anything but frail; he was stout, and his body fit the flowing silver beard and hair, he had pulled into a ponytail. He wore half-moon spectacles, and his electric-blue eyes seemed to be twinkling with merriment. The waitress passing by, stopped before him, and asked, "Would you want something else, Mr. Dumbledore?"

Albus Dumbledore, dressed in a garish blue and gold suit, smiled at her, and told, "I'm afraid no, Miss Jones. An old man must take his liquor a bit…carefully."

Miss Jones laughed, and then went away. After sometime, when the workload at the restaurant had went down some, she came and sat beside him.

"You've got a strange name, ."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Yes, my dear, I have often been told so. But what to do? I'm afraid I'm rather attached to it."

Miss Jones smiled, and said, "You know, your smile kind of reminds me of….my grandfather. He often told his stories of War to us, his grandchildren, in the evenings."Her eyes gazed at something far away, and Albus said, "Wonderful man. How is he?"

Her gaze returned to him. "He's dead. Died this summer."

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear, for your loss." Albus said sympathetically.

Miss Jones waved a hand. "He died in peace. That's what matters." She said.

Both of them remained silent for a moment, then Miss Jones said,

"He served in the Army, you know, in the Second World War….do you know, Mr. Dumbledore, you also have that kind of a look, a war veteran's look. Did you also serve?"

Albus looked taken aback for a second, then smiled, a grim smile.

"Yes, Miss Jones. I fought."

Her eyebrows crinkled; Albus knew that she had caught on his telling of "fought" instead of "served".

She did not pursue the subject. Instead, she said, "Where?"

Albus' eyes lost a large share of their twinkle, and he said in an impassive voice, "When not? Where not? The whole world's fighting now. They fought then also. Friend killing friend, teacher killing ex-students…"

"Excuse me? Teacher killing students?" Miss Jones' eyebrows were very near to her hairline.

"Yeah." Albus' voice didn't waver. He said, "When not? We often employ mercenaries. Many of them die that way. Student at the hands of a teacher. Friends are often entrenched on two sides of a battle."

"Did you lose a friend like that?" She asked sympathetically.

"Yes." Albus sipped his drink. "His name was Grindelwald."

She grimaced, and in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, she said, "Hey, your folks do have strange names, you know? The credit certainly doesn't extend to you!"

Albus laughed quietly. She asked, "So what calls you here? Vacation?"

"No." Albus' eyes twinkled mischeviously. "I'm just popping in for a talk, and I'll be popping out after that."

She rolled her eyes. "You old men are all the same. You love a riddle."

At the last word, Albus' face grew morose, and he sighed.

"Any grandchildren you tell stories to?" She asked.

"yes." Albus' eyes brightened. "One grandson. Only one. Although if you think he liked my "stories", you are very much in the wrong. He often calls them "Revelations."". and he laughed.

She laughed with him, and said, "Sounds like an interesting guy. Is it him you're meeting for a talk?"

"Children these days are so clever…" Albus said, smiling.

"Oh! Is that your grandson?" She said, pointing at a man with jet-black messy hair, who had just parked a motorbike before the restaurant and was walking towards them.

"Yeah. That's Harry. The motorbike….was his godfather's."

She recognized the past tense used in referring to his godfather, and wisely, didn't ask any question, opting to watch Harry instead, who strode in with an easy-going manner, and smiled when he saw Albus, and raised an eyebrow at her. Suddenly self-conscious, she stood up, assuming her business attitude, and Harry sat across from Albus, an unfathomable expression on his face. He was dressed in simple cotton trousers and a blue turtleneck shirt. Though his emerald eyes captured her attention the most as they turned to her. He simply said, "A pint of the strongest might do."

She hurried away, to return with the order.

Meanwhile at the table, Harry was avoiding Dumbledore's gaze. Dumbledore watched him in amusement, and then said, "So?"

"So what?" He asked, still avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, stop that, will you?" Dumbledore said. "We both know we aren't in any Legilimens harm from each other, so why bother?"

At this, Harry finally looked up at him, his eyes troubled.

"Unless….something interesting's happened." Dumbledore said.

"Ummm….." Harry tried to say something, but was cut off by Dumbledore.

"Have you managed to retrieve the Portrait?"

Harry stiffened. "I-I don't understand! That portrait has _no_ value to what I had set out to do! No damn pureblood has ever seen it! So why go to all that danger to make sure that this doesn't fall into wrong hands?!"

"This is the last one, Harry. Surely you do feel the need to make sure that _nothing _of that kind would again be used as Pureblood agenda for holding onto the past?"

Harry sat up straight.

"So get this straight, Albus. This is my last. I'm quitting after this."

"The job was never mine to give, Harry. Why should you bother answering to me? As far as I'm concerned, we are only partners in this job. _You_ appointed _yourself_. I'm merely making the connections and sending the artifacts out." Dumbeldore said calmly.

Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself. The resulting situation was taking its toll on his anger. Add to it the fact that he certainly didn't like _whom_ he had to hurt in order to do _what _he had to do.

"Albus, our arrangement was getting rid of all artifacts that the Purebloods strutted about with, which told _their _side of history. So I understand when you pressurize me to get my paws on _them_. But…this portrait, nobody's even seen it. It's become a myth. Why bother with it?"

"Apart from the desire to see a finished job? You might say I wish to bring two sides….of the same coin, together." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Again speaking in riddles." Harry rolled his eyes at the old man.

"There's something else troubling you." Dumbledore said, nursing his drink.

Harry's eyes shot up. "Now what the heck's the matter with _me_?"

"The matter with _you_? Or, should I say,the beautiful _Miss Weasley_?" Dumbledore enquired.

Harry facepalmed. "Of all things, you have to ask this. _This_!"

"You're growing attached to her." Dumbledore observed calmly.

"Listen, Albus. _I am bloody not getting attached to her_! It's….it's only I-I'm seeing things, which I don't understand…."

"You're not understanding you're in love?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"No, Sirius made sure there was plenty of love growing up-" Harry flicked his hand lazily, and froze. "What did you _say_? I'm in love? _Love? L-O-V-E love?_"

"Did you think the word could be spelled any other way, Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again.

"Be it as much fun as you get teasing me, Albus, we have matters to discuss." Harry said, teeth clenched. "I'm seeing things. In my dreams. Memories that I myself didn't know I had."

"You see someone trying to duel Voldemort. You see that someone having the killing curse shot at her. You see yourself jumping in the way and taking the curse, and you see yourself waking again. And you don't remember her face, or _why _you jumped in front of her." Dumbledore said.

"Yes. And I intend to ask you how you knew all this." Harry said in a quiet,deadly voice.

"I had nothing to do with that. If you think I obliviated you into it, then go on, Harry, have a look inside my head, and tell me I had something to do with it." Dumbledore answered.

Harry's face crumbled, and he rubbed a hand against his forehead. "Why me, Albus? Why me of all people? Why must I always carry the burden of doing this? Why must _nothing _in my life go normally? Why?"

Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"No one knows how life might work or not work, so it's no use thinking over it. I don't know why that happened, but I do have a theory, gathered from other…information." To Harry's beseeching look, he said, "I'll give you a tried and tested Theory, Harry, not my rather crude hypothesis. Let it all work out. Now, we had work to do."

"Is there really no way to do this without hurting her?" Harry asked desperately.

"What you do, how you do, is upto you. My part of the bargain is to get those things out. It's all up to you. I always told you that you could _choose _what you wanted to be."

"I see. Well, if it's to end this way, then it'll end. I've lost too many by now to fear of another loss." Harry said, face downcast.

Dumbledore gripped his shoulders, and said, "Get it done with fast. And then, you'll come…Home. Where you 'll all work out."

Harry nodded, and stood up, and strolled to Sirius' motorbike. He saw Dumbledore standing at the door of the restaurant, smiling at him. A crowd of tourists went by, and when Harry looked again, the old man in his mysterious suit had disappeared.

Sighing, Harry, kicked the motorbike into life, and sped off, his thoughts clouded by a woman with flaming red hair and chocolate brown eyes.

(line break)

Both of them were lying on the sand, on their bellies, heads resting on crossed hands, watching the frothing water just short of them. The crash of the waves lent a rhythmic tone to the environment as both of them stayed like that in companionable silence. The Sun was setting.

Ginny broke the silence first.

"Where are we really?"

Harry turned his face towards her, and smiled.

"I thought you already knew the name of the country we're in."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You know perfectly what I'm talking about."

Harry didn't move, just stretched a hand, and laced his fingers with Ginny's. Then he spoke.

"We are where we want us to be, I think."

Ginny looked into his eyes.

"You think that?"

Harry smiled, and ran a hand through her flaming red hair.

"I do."

Ginny nodded, and stood up, gracefully shaking the sand off from her body.

"You'll….can I ask Mister Mysterious to grace my poor bungalow for once?" She said, fighting a smile.

Harry stood up, and not bothering to dust himself, told her, "Well then, lead the way, will you?" and took her hand.

Ginny blushed, and laughing, shoved him, and pulled him along to her car.

(line break)

Thunder was booming overhead, and it was raining cats and dogs. Ginny had taken it upon herself to drive him to her bungalow, and had done so, to his surprise, rather well, considering she was a pureblood witch. But, Harry told himself, there was just something _about_ her, which pulled him in. Rather dangerously. He was not a boy for Merlin's sake, but even _he_ could feel that this was something else.

So when Ginny stopped beside the bungalow, the rain pelting the front window of the car, and sat still, he could fathom a little of what might happen. Ginny suddenly whipped her wand around, and pointed straight towards him, only to find another long,slender wand already poking her throat gently. Her eyes widened. Her reaction time was one of the best, and very few anticipated such attacks, and could be on guard like this. She knew only two people: Albus Dumbledore, and Voldemort himself. _Who really is this man?_ She asked herself. She found herself drawn to him nonetheless, and said, "Look, I'm dangerous, I've fought-"

"That sounds a bit tame when you realize that your opponent's wand is already at your throat. But there is place for improvement." Harry interrupted in an impassive voice. Ginny didn't answer. Instead, she pressed her wand to his throat, and brought it down slowly, trailing a line from his neck, his chest, his heart, his stomach….Harry felt his breath hitch. Ginny wore a self-satisfied smirk.

"Yes. And I'm _improving_. Now."

Grasping the collar of his shirt, she pulled him into a heated, scalding kiss, and snaked her hands through his messy, raven hair, while her other hand explored the lithe muscles on his chest over his shirt in a slow, agonizingly tempting fashion. Harry wrestled with the sudden explosion of desire running rampant in his blood, and pushed more passion into the kiss, as one hand of his twisted in her hair, bringing her head even more closer, crushing his lips to hers, while the other hand curled around her hips, pulling her body, crushing her to him.

They didn't even know when they had managed to get into the bungalow, and to Ginny's bed, and as they'll both put it in the future, to their oblivion of satisfaction. And an old man with half-moon spectacles and a crooked nose would call it "coming together of two sides of the same coin."

It was late night when Harry was awoken by the moonlight streaming onto the bed. He trailed a finger over Ginny's flaming red hair, relishing in the warmth of her body snuggled up to his, her head on his chest, her face set in peace as she slept. The moonlight reflected off her perfect ivory skin, and Harry marveled at the simple beauty of the scene. No woman had ever made him feel like this. Certainly he had never stayed up just to _watch _them sleep. But Harry felt he could, for her. His breath caught as he tried to imagine a future with her, a future where-

_No._ He told himself. _Only a free man can think of a future. I'm not one yet. _

Harry sighed. The plan he had concocted might work, might not work, who knew. But he had to try it. He reasoned that if he had managed to understand Ginny even a tiny bit, then she would return the favor for him. Time was short; and there was work to be done, and it plenty of _motivation_ to be done with. Looking at Ginny like a drowning man looks at a boat, he slowly kissed her forehead, and whispered.

"I don't wish for forgiveness from you. I only wish to be understood. Time will tell. But, to be true, I'd say I…..love you. We'll see each other. Again. If you want."

And he slowly disentangled himself from her and stood before the window.

The moonlight shone over the pale body of the messy haired emerald-eyed man, adorned with old scars. The man raised a hand and trailed it on his forehead, tracing the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead thoughtfully. Then he turned around, and strode over to the mantelpiece, and stretched out his hand, casting a wandless summoning spell which brought his wand to him. He wove intricate patterns over a seemingly empty spot in the wall above the mantelpiece, smiling as he did so.

_She's excellent. She's warded it against all malevolent intent. However….she didn't take stock of a man's heart who did this only because he loved her and wanted to be with her. But we all do that, don't we?_ He said mentally, smiling in satisfaction as a portrait popped into existence, of a red-haired woman walking forward in the sand, a man's hand around her shoulders. Comically, his first thought was:

_Ravenclaw was a redhead?_

Shaking his head, he turned to face Ginny, and mouthed "I'm sorry" at her peacefully sleeping form.

Then both man and portrait disappeared without a sound, the _crack _of apparition masked by the overpowered silencing spell cast by the man moments ago.

Ginny slept on.


	6. Chapter 6: His Last Bow

Ginny awoke to the warmth of the sunlight steaming across her cheek, and stretched, yawning. Last night seemed like a dream. She didn't know his name. But yes, in the throes of making love, she had confused the pain and pleasure with her body's ecstasy; but now she knew more. Because when she had drifted off to sleep, she had understood exactly _what _kind of a pain it was.

It was the pain of a memory charm breaking.

And the memory had come back in the dream.

He was there at the battle of Hogwarts. She had seen him there, that's why he always seemed so familiar. It might have not been the most opportune of moments, but in the midst of that death and destruction and spells thrown here and there in the Great Hall, his and her's eyes had met, and she knew she was instantly smitten at the haunting fury and sadness coupled in those amazing emerald eyes. The depth and speed with which he moved, dodging spells. The skill of his spellwork, the finesse of his dueling. The way he blasted off Bellatrix Lestrange from her path, as the older witch was positively gloating that she'd slowly kill her. Then she saw something, which sent rather unwelcome shivers down her spine.

He had flung spells at Bellatrix with maddening dexterity, as the insane witch began to back off, on the defensive under the onslaught of curses. Then, she saw, with nausea, him tying her up, and bouncing her, from the floor, straight up to the ceiling with a sickening thud, then back to the floor and then again up to the ceiling. Through the entire ordeal, he had been counting the bounces loudly. And she had heard a curious thing.

"1. That's for the stunner you flung at my godfather."

"2. That's for the leg-breaker you cast at my godfather."

"3. That's for the blood-boiler you sent at your own cousin."

"4. That's for the Crucio you kept him under."

"5. That's for the hallucinatory curse you kept her under. Honestly, you had to remind him of fucking Azkaban!"

"6. And that's for the final killing curse which saw him through the veil."

The insane witch had been sobbing by now, her face a bloodspattered mess, much of her bones already broken, and even crying seemed to alleviate her pain. He had then blown her through the floor with a hate-filled glare, and then thrown her body straight at the Dark Lord, at whose feet it came to rest. Voldemort had been momentarily distracted, and had let out a bloodthirsty yell. She had thrown herself in front of him, as a killing curse had just been about to get him, and he had had his back turned. She watched desperately as for all her efforts, it struck him below the ribs, and he fell. In the battle, nobody had seen what had happen. But then, then what? The memory was….hazy….

Yes! Then, he had stood up shakily, looking like only a stunner had got him. She remembered now the expression of absolute, all-consuming, primeval fear on the Dark Lord's face at this, as he had turned his wand on the man. The strange man had turned his head calmly, and started to duel Voldemort, which ended in the Dark Lord's death.

In the confusion of the battle, nobody had realized that the Dark Lord had died. She had ran at the stranger, but….he had fallen to his knees, shaking, and Dumbledore had been there…..he had been there…..he had gathered the stranger into his hands, and nodded to her. In passing, he just told her, "Sirius Black was his godfather. His death hit him rather hard." And had gone. She had also collapsed then, although why, and the reason of the memory charm on her, she did not know. The memory ended here.

But Ginny knew more.

She now knew who this man was.

There was only one man who was the godson of Sirius Black, the traitor, whose treachery, resulted in deaths of his closest friend and his family.

The Potters. Voldemort had had them betrayed.

And he had killed them all. Including the one-year-old baby boy.

Or that was what _Dumbledore _had given out.

And she had a rough idea why he was doing what he was doing. What he was doing wasn't a noble thing; but, heck, she knew nothing about family heirlooms. They were one bunch of purebloods who didn't put much stock into heirlooms. But they were powerful artifacts in the Pureblood society. They didn't have any material value, except being antiques. But purebloods used exactly _this _notion of antiquity being _precious_ to deny the improvements that they could gain by adaptation to the modern times and the muggleborns. Those antiques were _symbols_. Break them, break the spirit of bestowing preciousness on antiquity. On old, dead habits and customs.

He was playing a dangerous game, for all the Purebloods were out for his blood. Nobody knew who had killed the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore had been vague on that, saying it _may_ have been stray fire. So he hadn't got the credit of doing them all a great good. Then also, he was hiding about, playing dangerous games to complete a work, aware that killing the Dark Lord didn't mean the dying of his propaganda. _And _it wasn't likely he might be getting acclamation for even that. Truly, a selfless man. But, Ginny had prepared herself for a likely heartbreak, still, it was painful to turn around and look at the wall, to see something which she didn't want to see at all. Sure, the ends justified the means; but that didn't mean she was proud of what he was doing to get to the end. It was no noble work. Efficient, maybe. But still, it poked at her conscience. And she really hated being left out there all alone, not knowing what was going to happen next. For the artifacts were certainly going somewhere, and…he was playing with fire.

Not surprised, Ginny looked at the wall, and could feel her spells in tatters, the portrait…..gone. She had liked it. It reminded her of herself. And now, it was gone. The last pureblood from whom nothing had been stolen, had lost that status.

Eyes as empty as the wall, Ginny dressed, and floo-called her brothers, and the Aurors.

(line break)

Harry grimly walked into the plush Hotel, not returning the smiles of the female attendants as they passed him. His mind was too distracted to return the common curtsies, or acknowledging a bit of female attention. Whatever female attention he _wanted_, he feared he had pushed it away for good.

There was no colorful dress for him today; he was dressed in a plain grey jacket, a bottle-green shirt and black trousers. In his hand, he carried a briefcase. As he rounded the corner of the Hotel Dining Space, he saw the old man sitting at the edge of the large room, sipping wine, and looking out through the large expanse of glass beside him, at the city.

Harry knew very well that Dumbledore disapproved of what he was doing: he had advised him to go and claim his seat on the Wizengamot, and claim the killing of Voldemort, but he had refused to do so. He didn't want the attention before he finished his work, he had said. Dumbledore had told him that he could work by political manouevres against the purebloods. He had retorted that he had been spending enough of his life being a marked man and fighting, he'll not do it again, he just wanted to live, for fuck's sake, not deal with childish politicians for all of his life! His plan was simple; nip the bud of the present evil. Cut off the source for all of the damn Pureblood's pomp, and kill the spirit of bigotry and racism. Kill the symbols, tear out the heart. It was a faster route than bleeding to death by a thousand wounds, he had said to Dumbledore. In the end, Dumbledore had been convinced begrudgingly. He had helped with the smuggling of the artifacts outside, with a client he knew very well. Both of them were currently rich men from the sells; but Harry knew, from trusted espionage, that all of those artifacts were in one place. That elicited suspicion. But before all that, he had to deliver this last work. He sat in front of Albus, as the old man stood up to greet him, and took the briefcase from him and kept it to his side, and poured out wine for him.

Sipping the wine, Harry was quiet. It was Albus who broke the silence.

"You know you're free now."

Harry looked up, and said, "Am I?"

"I don't know why you ask, Harry. I had already told you, I don't like your methods. But you must be very happy now to enjoy that freedom you finally got. Fast work you did there."

Harry stayed silent. Albus looked concerned.

"Harry? Harry! What has happened to you?"

Harry tapped the wine glass and thought for a moment, and then spoke. "You know, Albus? All my life, I had not cared for what other people thought of me. I have been trained to execute, to kill, to work flawlessly. I only care about Sirius and Remus, with _love_. Now, both of those are gone. So are those I cared about the other way. Only those are left who I _don't _care about. I've been a Thief, for a while. I'm not very proud of what I do; but when work's got to be done, there's no question of pride. I'm a thief, I steal Pureblood artifacts, betray people who trust me, and in the end, I vanish, disappear, into the fog, with my prize, alone."

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling.

"And now?"

"I'm not sure." Harry said, putting down the wineglass.

"I mean, Ginny looked to be all I'd seen in the past…but, there was something different. Like I'd seen her somewhere. And then, last night, we made love. And at the high, a memory charm I'd never noticed was repealed, and I saw her: she was the one who threw herself in front of me to stop a killing curse from Voldemort. I met her when I had come into the Hall, and she was dueling with such ease and aggressiveness….and when I finally killed Bellatrix, she didn't look livid, or nauseated. She just looked she…understood. Then it's all hazy."

"If you think I put the charm-" Dumbledore started.

"No. I know that. If you had done that, then I'd not been seated over here. Rather, I've been standing at your funeral. No, Albus, someone else did that. I guess…we came back together last night, and the feel…..the charm couldn't take it."

"Are you sure it's just a feel, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Are you completely sure it's not love?"

"I don't know. And stealing from her….if I had loved her, would I have stolen from her? I don't fucking know! Good Lord, I ruined what little I had with the woman who went to the extent of throwing herself in front of me for a Avada Kedavra!"

"Calm down, Harry! Calm down! We'll sort this out, have no fear! We'll sort this out!" Dumbledore said.

"Yes, yes….ALbus….I got a little carried away there….sorry. Yeah, ship that portrait out fast. I have to ring some bells. You know. Give me some time to myself. I have to sort _me _out." Harry finished grimly.

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry stood up, and strolled over to his motorbike at the side of the restaurant, only pausing to throw a question at Dumbledore.

"By the way, Albus, did you know that Ravenclaw was a redhead?"

(line break)

THE DAILY PROPHET

THE THIEF STRIKES AGAIN!

_The elusive thief, who had been allegedly stealing precious artifacts that dictated and validated the Pureblood legacies, has struck again, as it seems. _

_The last feat of the thief was the stealing of the one part of the two-part portrait by Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw. He stole the part that showed Gryffindor, from the Greengrasses._

_The other part, which showed Rowena Ravenclaw, was rumored to be lost, but it seems that those rumors are wrong. For it had been handed down the main Ravenclaw line, till it went to members who branched away from Ravenclaw's name. And it seems, it landed up with the only one family of Purebloods who hasn't had anything stolen from them yet: The Weasleys. Their youngest, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, had taken the portrait with her abroad, the last month. Did she already suspect the thief to be behind her also? We can only speculate that this move to another country for a while was to evade the Thief for some time, but it seems that that move has not come to any success. For the Thief, had stolen the portrait in Miss Weasley's possession._

_She had been unavailable for comment, but as the Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster of Hogwarts, defeater of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore said, "Miss Weasley's privacy should be respected. She has gone through a great loss. The portrait had been lost. I have high hopes of our efficient Auror Corps detecting this Thief very soon."_

_We here at the Daily Prophet speculate, now that all of the Pureblood families have lost their prized possessions, what will this Thief be doing, seeing as he had been exclusively hunting Pureblood bloodlines? What more is left for him to steal?_

_Not a Dark Lord. Not a vigilante. But it is only a meager Thief. Who is slowly being responsible for the uprooting of Pureblood credentials. Last Saturday's WIzengamot meeting was in total disarray, when prominent families like the Malfoys, Greengrasses, Notts, Crabbes, Goyles, Longbottoms, Macmillans, Abbotts, Davises, Bones were quite openly ridiculed by the elected half-blood and muggleborn members of the Wizengamot as being "venerable, obsolete old fools who talk of magical superiority by right of blood but cannot hold on to a precious family heirloom." The Minister for Magic was forced to call in the Aurors to defuse the explosive situation._

_Are we going to see the end of this Thief now that this last portrait had been stolen? Or will he be back again with any other sinister motives? Or will this, be His Last Bow?_

_(line break)_

"So….you didn't see him?" Auror Gawain Robards asked with nervous excitement, sensing that he might be getting another chance at getting his hands on this elusive man. Ginny Weasley turned an impassive face towards him from across the couch.

"No. I didn't."

Robards stared at her narrowly. Ginny stared back, almost daring him to make a move. Robards started, "Miss Weasley, I must remind you that any accidental withholding of-"

Ginny interrupted him with a harsh glare.

"I know nothing, so you'd better stop harassing me."

Auror Robards stared at her for some time, then stood up, and walked swiftly out of her bungalow, beyond the boundary of which he turned, and apparated.

"We're all so sorry, m'dear…." Molly Weasley put an arm around her daughter, consoling her. All the Weasleys were over there, looking immensely relieved that nothing had happened to Ginny's person. After all, the portrait wasn't _theirs._ Dumbledore gave it to them, it was his headache. Although the old man, who was sitting directly opposite to Ginny, looked anything but troubled. He looked a bit amused. But the Weasleys excused that, because they already knew they had better chances of getting the Malfoys to admit that they were in league with the Dark Lord than figuring out Albus Dumbledore's mind. Although, Ginny had a niggling suspicion, which was hinting _why_ Dumbledore might look amused. But she knew better than to ask him that publicly, especially in front of her family.

Bill and Charlie were both looking over the vacant space of the wall were the portrait had hung, with Bill poking the air with his wand every now and then. Apparently satisfied, he turned towards the group, and said,

"Whoever did this, Ginny, is a master at doing this. I am a curse-breaker, Gringotts-standard, but even _I_ am _nowhere _near to breaking such a complex spellwork that had been done as a protection over the portrait. He didn't even break through them. It's almost like he knew the signature wand movement for each level of the magical algorithm, and he did it perfectly. The wards are still there, but it looks like a tiny hole in them drained out their magic enough to weaken them in order to take the portrait. You did your best, Ginny, far better than any of us. He was better, it seems."

Dumbledore stood up, and smiled.

"Well, what's gone is gone, I suppose. Now, I suppose the last of the Artifacts gone, the Thief might be leave us alone for good."

"Will he be ever free enough to do that?" Ginny asked, as her family turned to stare at her in shock, not understanding where this question was coming from. But she was looking at Dumbledore, and though he kept a perfect face, she realized he was actually quite a bit uncomfortable with the question. But he answered, nonetheless.

"How can we ever know, Miss Weasley, how his mind works? I can only reason what I told. But whether he'll deem himself free enough….I'm afraid that might be a question to him also. Who knows, he might be searching it even now as we speak."

Nobody understood the conversation, but one look from Ginny kept everyone from asking.

And while Ginny didn't know still _who_ the Thief was working _for_, she now could understand perfectly _who _the Thief was working _with_.

There must be a reason why Dumbledore sent her out here with the Portrait.

And she resolved to wring that reason out of that elusive Thief the next time they met, as she knew, they would.


	7. Chapter 7: He watches it Burn

The man looked to be curiously at peace, as he rode his motorbike over the bridge, through the tunnel, out onto the pristine highway. He was helmetless, his messy hair flying in the wind, sweeping aside to reveal a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Harry wasn't much perturbed by his regular lack of flying in the country here; he had deemed it too much work to create so many illusions as _not_ flying. Instead, he had opted for Sirius' bike, and he loved it. He now understood why Sirius had treasured it so much. It gave the luxurious feel of revelling in the notion of speed without having to use a broomstick. Of course, being up there on the air was much fun, but here down on the ground also, it was really really good.

Though Harry's mind wasn't on these thoughts; instead, they were on a red-headed, brown-eyed woman.

He was riding the bike at an alarming speed, yet dexterity gained from a lifetime of quidditch had ensured that he darted out of any potential accidents. But there was another reason why: his brow was furrowed in concentration, as he struggled to use his concentration on the road to push away his thoughts from Ginny.

Yes, he had already known her name and had dismissed her as being one of the easy types, before meeting her. When he first saw her, she had pegged his curiosity. Her biting of her lip in determination, the flash of competition in her eyes when he had been getting the portrait in the auction out of her reach…..they all snagged his attention. Then, that night in the restaurant. That dance. The slanting of her brows in amusement, the dips in her cheeks when she laughed. Harry had to admit to himself, he was getting addicted to watching Ginny Weasley. Minutely.

Then the discovery had come. He had heard her story of the battle. She had sympathised with him, without _pity_. He liked that. Then, she had asked him if he could tell her once before going away. Harry understood by the evening, he was enchanted by this woman.

Then, that….night. The kiss. Harry had kissed many women in all his endeavours as the famous _Thief_, but he had rarely felt what he had felt there. Sure, the stabbing of desire was there, that was to be expected. But he felt a burst of warm _affection_ intermingling with the roaring desire in his heart. That shouted not for possession of this woman for one night, but for a lifetime of living with this woman. Harry was in love. And he admitted he still is.

And then, the memories had come flying back.

That had made his going away a whole lot more difficult. But….he had to try one last time. At getting free. But from what he had seen of the memories, he was troubled. _Someone _had put that memory block, and there was _something_ fishy going about the one who was buying all the portraits. Dumbledore trusted everyone, hence he could say that they _were _going out of the country. But Harry didn't trust anyone; so the failure for his spies to trace the portrait's path was disconcerting for him.

Alone, or a last try with Ginny? His mind battled.

He was sitting at a roadside restaurant now, at a single table, and the waitress carefully kept down his hot mug of coffee down on the table, before him, and smiled at him coyly. If it had been any other day, then Harry would've played with her. Fact was, he didn't feel the need any more. So he only smiled wearily. The waitress's smile wavered into a disappointed frown, and she moved away, thus freeing the view in front of him.

A man and a woman was sitting at the table in front of him. Their restaurant had the road on one side, the sea on the other. The sun was setting, and the view was excellent. The wind blew Harry's hair around, and he moved it out of the way, and saw the woman laying her head on the man's shoulder, their hands entwined, and both of them looking out at the sea peacefully, the waning sunlight reflected off their faces. Harry felt a stab of regret twisting his insides. Suddenly, the coffee, which had been seeing so inviting, didn't seem so anymore. He almost felt tears coming to his eyes. He brushed them away, and then thought for a while.

It seemed he made a decision, for he slapped the table decisively, and stood up, and slung one feet over his motorbike seat. He rode off into the gathering darkness, with a determined mind.

He had been _surviving _for too long. It's time he final knew what it meant to actually _live_. But first, he had _issues _to settle.

(line break)

"I do not wish any harm upon you. So I'd like you to understand that I really don't like lies. Tell me who _actually_ those portraits are going to from you." Harry asked in a deadly whisper, as the man bound and kneeling on the ground before him tried to blink away the rest of his dazedness.

He had been a proud man, absurdly rich too. Harry had just changed that fact. Or he _would be_ doing so, he had threatened. He wasn't under any illusions; this man would get back at him later, and he had to stop that possibility. So he had _Imperio'd_ the man without hesitation into writing over all his property, sealed with his blood, to St. Mungo's. And now, he had to break him into telling him _who_ he was passing along all the portraits to. For, he was the one buying from Dumbledore, but Harry's spies informed him clearly that he was not hoarding the portraits. He was _selling_ them. Last day's conversation had come back to him. He had gone to Dumbledore.

_Dumbledore was alone, humming to himself. When he had entered, Dumbledore had cosily welcomed him. "Come, Harry! Have a lemon drop!"_

"_No, thanks, Albus. I don't need sweets. I need information."_

_Dumbledore had looked at him with concerned eyes. "Sit." He had said._

"_No, Albus, this will be fast-"_

"_Harry." Dumbledore directed the chair in front of him. "Please sit."_

_With Harry sat, Dumbledore had leant forward. "Now tell me what this is all about. You haven't been yourself, Harry, what have you been doing?"_

_Harry had looked at him stonily. "We can discuss my life history later, Albus. There's work to be done over here."_

_Dumbledore had leant back, and raised an eyebrow. "Continue." Was all he had said._

_Harry had bluntly said, "I want those two paintings back."_

_Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, and said, "I can't give them back."_

"_Oh?" Harry had asked heatedly._

"_Harry." Dumbledore looked at him pointedly. "You never speak without thinking, so I'll not ask what brought this on. But, I've taken the money-"_

"_Which-" Harry started, and Dumbledore wrested back control of the conversation-"-is going to St. Mungo's as an anonymous grant. I've given my word."_

_Harry looked at him for a bit, then his shoulders , he stood up, wand in hand, and prepared to walk out, but Dumbledore stalled him._

"_Harry-"_

"_Albus, don't dig your grave deeper."_

"_Harry-"_

"_Albus!"_

"_Listen."_

_Harry took a deep breath and turned around to see Dumbledore looking very serious._

"_Harry, I'm bound by my word. But-" his eyes started twinkling again-"once I get that portrait to him, my responsibilty's finished. If 'anybody' steals the portrait from there, I have no compulsions to act on." He was smiling now._

_Harry felt his lips tugging up, also. _

He was brought back to the present by the man kneeling at his feet. He had to work fast. So he said again, "Tell me the _name_."

"How-How dare you come in _my_ house and threaten _me_!" The man yelled.

"Shut your trap. You forgot that you were also susceptible to the one for whom you are getting the portraits?" Harry asked.

The man's eyes widened. "You-You're the one? The Thief?!"

"I do not like being called that." Harry coldly whispered, and dangled the man upside down, now. "Now, tell me the _name,_ I'll let you go free."

"You'll obliviate me."

"Isn't that a better thing than being killed?" Harry asked coldly.

The man's eyes widened fearfully.

"oh-ok…" he said, and whispered the name.

Harry smiled, and stunned and obliviated him. With a _crack_, he disapparated.

(line break)

The gates of the Manor opened in a splendid arc, as Harry strode in, his face hidden by his hood. When he reached the entrance of the Manor, he waved carelessly in a pattern, and the door swung open. He strode in, to find the drawing room door flanked by two men in black robes, staring haughtily at him.

"When does the frog march?"

They asked him, standing in front of the door, wands trained in their hands.

"When the bandmaster is the rain." Harry replied. They moved aside to let him enter, but didn't expect the stunners from his wand. Both men crumpled, and were stashed in a nearby cupboard by Harry. He opened the door and entered.

In front of the fireplace, sat a tall man with long silky platinum blonde hair, his face scarred. Around him in guard positions, stood five men in black robes. Harry moved to stand in front of the man to see him better; he was playing chess alone.

"Ever play chess?" a silky whisper came.

"enough games have I played in my life to consider that." Harry replied, sitting down across the man.

"Harry Potter." The man acknowledged.

"Lucius Malfoy." Harry acknowledged.

"Why are you here,_ Thief_?" Malfoy asked with disdain.

"To do what I do. _Steal_." Came the reply.

"To such a grade that the Potters have fallen. To _steal_." Malfoy said.

"Funny." Harry answered. "Malfoy's used to grovel at the feet of a mad half-blood years ago, I remember. "

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "Wrong person. Right reason."

He said. "What are you really here for?"

"I've got to steal from you."

It was by time honoured battle instincts that Harry managed to avoid the green jet of light from the wand of the man behind Malfoy. He jumped up, and cast a bone-breaker at the man, which was repulsed. Harry backed into a defensive position, as five men ganged up on him. With a barrage of dark curses was Harry attacked, and as his first shield dissipated, Harry disappeared and reappeared among them. Malfoy's eyes widened. His house was warded for anti-apparition! A laughter sounded.

"Forgot, Malfoy?" Harry jeered. "I'm _the Thief_. I can breeze through complex wards and runes with not a problem. "He disappeared again, and appeared in the midst of five men, startling them, crouched and swirled his wand in a circular motion around him, and multiple stunners hit the men, all of whom collapsed. He turned around to find Malfoy pointing his wand at him.

"Yes, Malfoy. I have…..a special relationship with you. For _you_ are the one to cast the memory charm that day, weren't you? So complex….I didn't even recognise. Good piece of work. But why take the pain to do so? Why?"

Malfoy stared back. "No one would claim the killing of the Dark Lord. No one will arise to be the Savior. No one will put a stop to our legacy, the legacy of the Purebloods!"

"Well, you're wrong. I've got back the memory."

"It doesn't matter! For you will die today!"

"Well, Lucius, try it."

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry disapparated, and noted the wards had collapsed. Malfoy apparated, aiming to be appearing behind Harry, but Harry turned around at the last second, and faced Malfoy who had just appeared before him, and punched him, Malfoy's wand flying out of his hand. Malfoy collapsed towards the fireplace, and Harry stunned him into it, freezing the flame. He then went into the depths of the house.

Minutes later, a dark-haired man with emerald eyes exited the Manor, which was burning. He carried a suitcase in his hand, which consisted two portraits. The rest could burn for all he cared. The red lit up the sky as the flames reared higher.

Harry disapparated. Behind, the wasted legacy of Purebloods burnt, the smell putrid.


	8. Chapter 8: It All Ends Here

Auror Gawain Robards quickly tore open the mail he got, and saw, with a shock, that the watch he had lost so many days ago that night in the Godric's Hollow was over there. He still remembered that curious day.

_A lone man was standing in front of the memorial in Godric's Hollow. His hair was wild, his beard was uncut, and he looked tired, like he hadn't seen sleep for quite a while. He was Auror Gawain Robards, in charge of the hunt for the Thief. _

_He had often come here, to seek courage and solace from the memorial; of three people. A man with messy hair and glasses, a woman with twinkling eyes, and a child in her arms, with messy hair, and a lightning shaped scar on its forehead._

_The Potter Family._

_On that eventful night, Dumbledore claimed that Harry Potter had also died along with his mother and father. But the Ministry had not found the body. Dumbledore had claimed that the baby had been incinerated in the blast of the curse. The Ministry had not even found the ashes. But they also did not have the evidence that Dumbledore was lying. So the file was closed. Until, it was opened by himself._

_Two parents giving their life for a child; he had heard that. But a mother even managing to give the killing curse a two-way impact with the shield of her blood? That was what always befuddled him, made him believe that there were many things he knew nothing about. That, they, the all-powerful Auror Corps, were children next to the great happenings in the World. And now, they have been made children again, next to The Thief._

_He had heard that the Thief was going to steal something from the Potter Home; derelict as it was, the Thief must have had something good over there. So he squinted through his omniculors, and sat on the bench nearby. And jumped when he felt there was already someone sitting beside him, face half-hidden by the turned up collars of his cloak._

"_Come here often?" The visitor asked in a soft voice._

"_Yes." Gawain tried to act normal. "Makes me remember that there are often things in heaven and earth we can't understand."_

"_So do I." The visitor said, and was quiet for a while._

"_I didn't know them, you know." He said. "I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Potter."_

"_Well, that's a pity. Both were very nice, I've heard." Gawain replied._

_The visitor laughed. "Well, so have I." There was a change in the tone of his voice now. "But, it is little Harry Potter that interests me so much."_

"_I wonder why?" Gawain said._

"_Easy. A boy of one, defeating the dark lord? Then reduced to ashes by the backlash of the curse….the Ministry didn't even find the ashes, I've heard." The visitor answered._

"_We still aren't very sure of his death." Gawain said matter-of-factly._

"_Then, Auror Robards, what are you here for?" The visitor asked._

_Gawain's hand almost went to his wand, but the visitor said, "Please don't. I'm not a hostile. But these times call for wand to be drawn whenever someone else's wand is drawn."_

_Gawain took out his watch, and looked at it, and began twirling it in his hands._

_Gawain took a neutral expression: He said, "I heard today there was going to be a robbery. The Thief, I mean."_

"_Well, Auror Robards, have good luck with it," The visitor stood up, and for a moment, Gawain was amazed at his striking emerald green eyes and somewhat messy hair. "I wouldn't be so sure that what is dead is indeed dead, by the way. If Death could have been made two-way that night, maybe Resurrection of a House in the Wizengamot isn't too impossible by someone supposed to be long dead." And he turned._

"_What do you mean? Is Potter alive? Where is he?" Gawain said quickly._

_The visitor stared at him with striking emerald eyes, and laughed._

"_If you would have to ask, you may never know, Auror. But if you indeed know, you need only ask."_

_And with a pop, he disapparated._

_Long after that, Gawain finally went to have a look at his watch, and found it to be missing_.

Reliving the memory, Gawain saw that there was a note attached to the watch.

_Auror Robards, it was nice playing this game of cat-and-mouse. You're a good man. Surely you must have understood the ACTUAL impact of these so-called thefts by now. And I'm a rich man. I don't steal for money. Question is, why do I steal at all then? I'm afraid you know the answer by now. Oh, my work's finished. Watch out for a House that had fallen to rise in the Wizengamot soon. As I said, you're a good man. I leave the luck of the Wizarding World, literally, in your hands. Your action shall speak the future. Oh, and one thing. If I could not be caught in the past also, take care, I'll not be caught in the future also, if I wanted. I should say good bye, but you know, as well as I do, that actually a "good-day" would be a better term for us. See you soon._

Gawain knew who was the Thief! The one who had stolen that watch right under his very nose! He went to the only picture of the Thief that he had stuck on the wall; a man with a black mask over his face, showing only emerald green eyes. Gawain could even imagine the lightning scar on the forehead, and the chiselled cheekbones beneath. He took a deep breath, then snatched the picture from the wall, and tore it to pieces, throwing it in the fire.

"Minister!" He called in the fire.

"Yes, Gawain!" The Minister's face appeared in the fire.

"My source said that the Thief's employers had killed him. Unfortunately, they burnt his body, and the ashes were not found. No, the assets have been lost irrevocably I'm afraid, and no, they didn't get the name of the Thief. I'm afraid this case is closed. There is no need for any further investigation on this."

(line break)

Over at Ginny's apartment where she was packing her bags to return to Britain, a snowy white owl flew into Ginny Weasley's room. She tore open the letter, recognising the handwriting.

_Ginny,_

_Once, I told you that after this job, I'll be free. Somewhere in an unknown city, with an unknown name, I'll start an unknown life. You asked me once if you could come with me, remember? It's been so many days after that, and I finally see a glimpse of freedom. Only, I'm returning to the World that I truly call my Home, and to the House that I truly call mine. It is my name, as you must have surely found out. So I ask: Will you come with me?_

When Ginny turned to her room again, two portraits had materialised. Side by side. To give a beautiful picture of a red headed woman and a messy haired man walking on a beach in the moonlight, the woman's head on the man's, a perfect picture of love.

The Portraits of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw had been again brought together, and both of them resembled persons very, very familiar to Ginny. Only now she understood the implication of the inscription underneath the portrait.

_Neither can live without the other_.

(line break)

The messy haired man sat drinking tea at a tea stall just beside the sea. He was staring at a couple sitting in the table in front of him. He was watching them interact wistfully. He was waiting for someone. Someone who, he knew, _would_ tail him, because she gave him the worth for it. The wind blew through his hair and made it even messier; his eyes were calm, his close-cropped beard gave him an aura of authority and mystery.

Ginny Weasley stood at the entrance of the shop, wind blowing through her flaming red hair, the Sun setting at the sea setting fire to her hair. She curled an arm around the lamp-post nearby, and leaned on it, drinking in the sight of him. He hadn't seen her yet. She longed to rush into his arms; she also longed to slap him and then kiss the seven hells out of him. But over all that, she felt drunk with the pleasure that it was all over, that he was no longer the tortured man she knew-he was free at last. Free of the stigma of what he had to do to gain his goals.

He raised his cup to his lips, and then, slowly set it down. He pushed his messy hair, which was falling over his face, aside, and looked into her eyes. From that distance, Ginny could feel the intensity, love, and overall relief in his gaze. He stood up, and walked towards her. When he came near, she luxuriated in the feeling of getting lost in his emerald green eyes.

"Harry." He smiled, extending his hand to her. "I never told you my name. It's Harry. Harry Potter."

Ginny looked at his hand, and then pulled him into a crushing embrace, sobbing with relief that it had not been a dream. He hugged her back with equal intensity. He took hold of her chin, and pushed it up, and looked deep into her eyes. Harry thought that he was truly free now. Free to love. With all his heart, mind and soul. And he kissed her. Not restrained, not with absolute desire like that night he stole the portrait from her. But with absolute conviction of his love.

When they broke apart, Ginny sniffed, "I thought you're never going to return."

Harry smiled. "I thought you'd never have wanted to come."

"A fool you are." Ginny laughed.

"Well, I like it better than being the Thief," Harry said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Ginny hugged him again.

"Where do we go on from over here?" She asked.

"On." Harry simply said and smiling, they strolled across the now moonlit beach, Ginny's head on Harry's shoulder, his arm around her.

One could almost stop their breathing at the pure beauty of the sight; the redheaded woman and the messy haired man walking together, their gait full of love, in the moonlit beach, the sea roaring its approval.

"As I had always said," Albus Dumbledore said to himself, smiling with a smile that after many a day managed to reach his eyes, "It was all an effort to being two sides of the same coin together."

-****THE END*********-

AN: Thank you all, guys. You, who read my stuff, you who reviewed and you who always stayed through me and encouraged me to keep on writing. It's been a great journey. Watch out for the next chapter in my on-going thriller "A Second Chance." Reviews are appreciated. Thank you all!


End file.
